


Strawberries and Cigarettes

by yuraaa



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Misunderstandings, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-14 22:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14145702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuraaa/pseuds/yuraaa
Summary: Meeting your ex after two years of separation is hell relocating on earth. Meeting him at your best friend's wedding, even more so.Yuuri didn’t care if this was a formal event.Yuuri had never run so fast in his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea just popped in my head and I hope you enjoy!

It should be so simple, really. There should be no trembling of hands, no heavy intakes of breaths, no pounding in his ribcage where his heart is now venturing through a storm. He would have none of that, because he knew better. He should know better. Because if he wanted to preserve his last bit of sanity, he would smile and ask “How have you been?” politely, nod at the answer he would be given, find a way to excuse himself, and that would be the end of the conversation. The final dot to the sentence—the prose that has reached its conclusion years ago.   
And yet here he was, wiping his palms on the rough fabric of his slacks, the smell of hydrangeas infiltrating his nose, the sweetness of it all making him dizzy when he’s hardly had a flute of champagne. The air was buzzing with cheer, the evening sky offering compliance to the occasion, showcasing a blanket of stars, and the moon like a giant beacon to those that were lost, and must now come together. And yet Yuuri felt spiteful because all it is was another chance to be the fool that gets his heart broken twice, because in spite of the natural evening glow, the brightest was still silver.

“It must be nice,” Yuuri thought to himself as he side-eyed the newly wedded couple. Phichit has always been the sun, and it was no surprise, to be honest, that Chris chose him to be the only one he revolved around. Yuuri couldn’t imagine the sense of relief that came with finding the one person you’d spend your life devoting your entirety to, of waking up to someone and feeling that warm gratefulness in your chest for finally belonging, for finally coming home. Yuuri continued to watch the couple as Chris spun his husband around, Phichit’s eyes crinkling in mirth, before the inevitable, before hearing the dreaded awkward clearing of throat in his proximity, before his brain short-circuited, and forgot the perfectly rehearsed lines he had invented— what tone to use, what the appropriate lilt of his voice should be— because he was not stupid, of course, he expected this.

Victor was Chris’ best friend, the two of them having known each other since college. It was Chris that had introduced them back when Yuuri was only nineteen and didn’t know any better. So of course, of course, to think that Victor would not be present was a complete waste of the years he’d spent on his Bachelor’s degree. But he did hope, prayed so fervently, in fact, that he even started lighting incense, that through some miracle, some great divine intervention they could just pretend to not know each other, as if there were no years shared between them filled with so much love and life that were now only gathering dust; a lonely box of souvenirs. 

But no one ever gets what they want at the moment they want them most, so he turns his head to meet Victor’s eyes. Blue, and so, so deep that Yuuri almost clutched his chest, desperate to have something to hold on to. His hair was no longer the silver vines measuring down his waist. Instead it was much shorter, but made Victor no less beautiful. Now that he thinks about it, it’s all funny, really. Like his life had been a cosmic joke, and here was the universe delivering the final punch line. Because it had to be the divine’s cruel sense of humor to give you permission to learn someone so well, all the things they like, what makes them tick, what skeletons they hide in their closets, and still have them stand in front of you two years later, only to see a perfect stranger. Gone was the boyish, carefree smile that Yuuri loved to photograph because Victor was just too beautiful to not belong to a museum. Gone were the lips that pressed on his whenever the cicadas were in their full spirits; nature’s orchestra in the summer nights where Victor made Yuuri his own. 

Now there was a crevice, an almost physical division between the two of them that Yuuri felt if he ever reached out on the other side, there would be nothing. Now Victor looks at him with an apology. I’m sorry for the way things are around here. I’m sorry they aren’t what they used to be. They were young and foolishness always goes hand in hand with youth. There were dreams that they must chase, and they couldn’t do so while holding each other’s hands. In the end, they had both let go.

“Hello, Yuuri.” Victor starts, and for a brief second Yuuri’s lungs forget how it survived knowing it had to breathe without this man by his side. Victor shoves his hands in his pockets, seemingly unsure where to put them. Yuuri remembers how it felt to have them intertwined with his. Yuuri wishes he hadn’t. 

“Hello, Victor. It’s been a while.” Yuuri says, reciting as he had practiced. It’s fine, he feels as if there’s a knife stuck in his throat, but it’s fine. The moment the excitement died down after Phichit had given him the news of his marriage, the smile on his best friend’s face turned remorseful, because Phichit was the one who nursed Yuuri back to health when he had neglected himself after the break up. The one who served as Yuuri’s rock when his insides crumbled whenever someone mentioned Victor’s name. There had been an awful night when Phichit found him lying on the cold shower floor with clothes still on, the water pelting down on him like a barrage of bullets, but the Thai didn’t ask him to explain, didn’t judge, didn’t say naïve things that they both knew wouldn’t make anyone feel better. Instead, he dried Yuuri, clothed him, wrapped him up in a blanket, and held him all night as he cried himself dry. Victor would be at the wedding, there was no avoiding it, and he didn’t want to damper the good news by dwelling on something that should have long been in the past, so he squeezed Phichit’s hand, assuring him that all would be well. Just because their relationship ended, doesn’t mean that there was automatically bad blood between them. There was no anger, no hate, no snide remarks. There was nothing. There was no longer room for anything.

Victor handed him a glass of champagne, and Yuuri waved his hands in front of him frantically. “I’ve already had some, and I can’t get too drunk I have to drive myself home.” Yuuri reasons, but if he were being honest he just didn’t trust himself to be alcohol induced with Victor around. Tonight was not the time for liquid courage.

Victor pouts. “The night is young, plenty of time to sober up later.” He nudges the glass back to Yuuri, sighing as he took it. “I remember back when you used to chug Jägermeisters like water, and I’m supposed to be the Russian here.” Victor teases, making him roll his eyes.

“That’s because you’re a horrible influence, Nikiforov.” He retorts, raising the drink to his lips. One glass wouldn’t hurt, he supposes, and besides, if push comes to shove, he could always catch a ride with Leo and Guang Hong. 

“The only thing that’s horrible here is that tie. Damn it, Yuuri, why are you still keeping that?” Victor eyes his baby blue tie with disgust, while he grips at it protectively, as if Victor was actually going to rip it off of him any second now.

“I’ll have you know this has helped me get through my thesis defense, and job interviews. You can have those velvety magenta ties you love so much. This is priceless.” Yuuri scoffs. This has always been the case with Victor and Yuuri’s fashion sense. He used to adore dressing Yuuri up, and almost literally vibrated whenever Yuuri wore his clothes. Half of his closet had ended up with Victor’s shirts, sweaters, and university jacket. It had taken him months to purify his entire wardrobe after their break up.

“Priceless in a way that it has no value.” Victor smirks.

“Are you that eager to get slapped?” Yuuri snaps, earning him a laugh. And that melody somehow jolted him awake, back to reality. This was not how he rehearsed it in his head. There should be no laughing, and teasing, only polite answers, and civil smiles. Because the notion that ex-lovers could be friends was something that Yuuri has thoroughly denied. You don’t get to go through such storm, and come out unscathed. Perhaps it’s because it’s Victor. Victor who is kind, and gentle, and probably understood that unless he started a banter, Yuuri would get a panic attack and collapse while talking to him, and although he appreciated that, he wasn’t entirely sure it was the right thing to be speaking so playfully with each other, given their history.

“They look beautiful, don’t they?” Victor gestures to Phichit and Chris who were now feeding each other cake, breaking Yuuri’s train of thought. “Who would have thought? One day, Phichit was bitch slapping Chris for groping him, and now they’re married. Funny how things work.” Victor takes a small sip from his drink, turning his gaze to the tiny, fizzling bubbles. Yuuri’s stomach is churning from the sad look in his eyes. He nods simply in agreement, unsure of what to say. He wonders if now would be the right time to leave. 

Unperturbed by his silence, Victor continues. “How about you? Any plans to settle down?” He doesn’t look at Yuuri, and asks the question nonchalantly to a stranger’s ears, but Yuuri swears he heard a slight tremor in Victor’s voice.

“No, not really.” Yuuri shifts his weight from one feet to another, his anxiety rearing its ugly head. “I mean, I haven’t really found anyone I’d want to be so permanent with, you know?” He answers awkwardly, and because he is weak, he adds, “A-and you?”

Victor looks at him, and smiles sadly. “The only one who has ever gotten a proposal from me is you.”

Yuuri feels the wind punched out of his gut. The light reflected off of Victor’s eyes so perfectly, he thinks that his vision must be made of stars; The flush in his cheeks caused by the alcohol made him look so warm, Yuuri had to keep his knuckles in a fist to keep himself from cupping Victor’s face. Then and now, Victor’s beauty knows no bounds.   
Yuuri stares at him with wide eyes, incapable of forming anything coherent. He tries to wiggle his tongue a little to see if it’s still there. He doesn’t know if he’d rather have Victor spiteful, instead of looking at him like he was—God forbid—longing. Neither was good for his heart. Victor chuckles at his reaction, and runs a hand through his silver strands. 

“Don’t look so surprised. It’s not like I’ve had the time.” The beating in Yuuri’s heart turned from uneasy to volatile rage that he almost scoffed. Victor was the most famous figure skater in the world, and people, especially the press, thrived on sinking their vulture-like claws in his personal life. The first time news broke out that Victor was seen in the arms of some American hockey player, Phichit literally had to spoon-feed him just to get him to eat. 

Now, Yuuri never really got very far in the rehearsed, imaginary conversation he thought he was going to have with Victor, but it’s been two years, for heaven’s sake, and he’s grown during that period of independence. He knew meeting again was bound to happen sooner or later, what with the number of friends they had in common. Yuuri has matured, has more experience, and apparently, after all that, Yuuri has still not outgrown being a vindictive little shit, because he rolls his eyes, and practically snarls, “Right, because TMZ never caught you drunk and making out with that ice dancer with the weird hair in the back alley of some dingy bar like you just hit puberty last month.” Yuuri’s voice dripped with so much poison, Victor gaped at him with his mouth parted, and as if realizing what he just said, Yuuri’s face heated up with embarrassment, his ears all red from his humiliating retort. 

“S-so you saw that? I wasn’t aware you kept track..” Victor clears his throat, trying to gain back his composure. “Look, that was just me being stupid. I was drunk, and stressed, and it didn’t mean anything.” He rubs the back of his neck, struggling to find the right words to continue. It pains Yuuri to see them both like this.

“It’s fine, Victor, really.” He sighs, putting his champagne down the nearest table, and rubs his face in frustration. “That was out of line, and it’s not like you have to explain in the first place.” Yuuri stares hard at the ground willing himself not to break down. How is it that after all this time he still finds him pathetically discarding all rational thought just because Victor was around? It took a while, but he had finally accepted it, or so he thought. It’s not like they ended things, throwing silverware at each other. What he and Victor had was the kind of whirlwind romance people write songs about; Flames that burned too bright, too fast. Admitting that it was time to part felt like his heart was literally breaking, like every artery, every vein was in protest to his decision, and then Victor had collapsed on his knees, and begged. At that moment, Yuuri wanted to die. Victor’s arms were wrapped around his legs like a child, terrified of being abandoned, and Yuuri must have been someone terrible in his previous life, because here was the man he loved, the living legend reduced to his knees, and all he could do was cry with him, and say that he was sorry. Oh, how the mighty fall.

“But I swear, I didn’t know half of what I did that night. Yakov almost threw me out the window, and if I didn’t have to skate in the next couple of days, I’m betting he would have. You believe me, don’t you?” Victor takes hold of his hand, and the sirens in Yuuri’s brain were blaring loud, and glaring bloody red. No, no, no, this wasn’t in the script. Yuuri looks down at their hands, and blinks owlishly at Victor. He doesn’t know how the man in front of him took that as invitation to come closer. Victor rubs his thumb on his knuckle, and suddenly Yuuri was a microwave thrown into bathwater. 

“Do you remember what I said the night we broke up? What I promised you?” Victor asks as if there was anything about him that Yuuri could forget.

When the tears had died down, they agreed to spend one last night together. Nothing all that special, but Yuuri treasured every second, took mental photographs to help him preserve what little time he had left with Victor. Fate was cruel. He knew this was for the best, and yet the best always destroys people in the worst way possible. They were curled up in bed, arms around each other, holding on for dear life. Victor was leaving small kisses all over his face, like he was trying to memorize Yuuri’s entirety. 

“Hey.” Victor whispers in the dark, and Yuuri looks at him questioningly. Victor presses his lips softly against his, and keeps them there while he speaks. “When all this is over, when the time comes when we’ve both figured out who we have to be to deserve each other, when I become the man who is worthy to wake up next to you every morning, I will shower you with all the love and adoration that I was too young and naïve to give you now. You will no longer cry, except out of happiness, and I will center my entire being in devotion to you even the gods will smite anyone who tries to take me from you. For now I’ll let you go, because there are things we must do, and things we must be, but I promise you this, Yuuri Katsuki,” Victor pauses to kiss him deeply, and when he pulls back, gazes at Yuuri straight in the eyes, “I will marry you when I come back.”

Yuuri chokes at the memory, staring at Victor horrified. He wanted to run, social graces be damned. This was ridiculous. Too much has happened, too much time lost to possible go back to how they were. But Victor presses his lips to Yuuri’s knuckles, and then the world was quiet. The crowd long gone, the sultry jazz playing in the background muted into silence. There was only him. Only Victor. The first person he had ever wanted to hold on to. The first person he had loved but could not follow. 

Victor peeks at him through his lashes, and Yuuri startles, throwing all his dignity off a cliff.

“I-I have to go.” He pulls his hand away, because it was the briefest moment, and yet Victor’s touch was already close to burning him into ashes. His heart was racing so hard in his chest he could almost feel his ribcage cracking. He turns on his heel, ready to dash out to where Leo was fussing over Guang Hong like a mother hen, and whether they’d notice why it’s eleven degrees out and Yuuri’s still sweating through his suit, he wasn’t in the right state of mind to care.

“Yuuri.” The sound of his name in Victor’s lips made all the hairs on his arms stand.  
“Yes?” Yuuri squeaks, turning his head a bit to look back.

“I’ll see you around.” Victor smiles, and whether that was a threat or a promise, he didn’t know. 

Yuuri didn’t care if this was a formal event.

Yuuri had never run so fast in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Victor loosened his tie, and threw it on the bed. As he sat down, he buried his face in his hands, sighing in frustration. Perhaps there was a better way in which he could have approached Yuuri tonight. He was well aware of how much Yuuri hated confrontation that it wasn’t really a surprise that he had run from him. Anticipation doesn’t mean it had hurt any less, however. It’s been two years since he’s been on the receiving end of the gaze coming from those cinnamon-coloured eyes he adored so much; two years that he’s been deprived of the warmth that could only come from holding those hands. He missed Yuuri. Every day. No second passed since they’ve parted where he didn’t wish he could come back, but he knew Yuuri deserved better than the broken pieces of himself that he had to offer. It was such a dreadful fight to wake up every day, knowing he’d have to spend the next twenty four hours without the man who has taught him love.

When Yuuri suggested they break up, Victor shattered. He didn’t care if it was embarrassing, or made him look pathetic. Russia’s darling down on his knees, begging not to be left behind. _What changed? What can I do? I’m sorry, I love you, I’m so, so sorry._ He cried until they were both on the floor, crying together. He knew Yuuri was right. They loved too much, too soon for their lives to catch up. Victor had been on the height of his career, winning one gold after the other. Yuuri had been selected to work under Celestino, Editor-in-chief of the sports journal that he’d dreamed of joining since he was twelve. Somewhere along the way, reasons became excuses, plans became drawn on air, _I miss you’s_ became apologies, and that had been their downfall. Looking back, he knew it couldn’t have been helped. There was much they needed to learn and see outside of each other’s worlds.

It was an awful cycle at first; every breath a struggle to get through the worst days of his life. “ _You foolish child,”_ Yakov would chide in his low, gruff voice but with a comforting hand on his back, while Victor cried on his chest. At least with his coach, it was alright to crumble. The most awful part was putting on his porcelain mask to hide his self away from the world. Their friends would ask about Yuuri, and Victor would smile, and say he’s doing fine, that he expects to hear from Yuuri sometime soon. And they’d look at him with uncovered pity in their eyes because they all know he’s lying.

**Viktor Nikiforov _11/21/2015 9:38pm_**

_> > I’m back in St. Petersburg. _

_ >> I don’t know if it’s just the snow_

_ >> But I’ve been everywhere in the world_

_ >> The city’s always cold without you_

**Viktor Nikiforov _11/23/2015 1:56am_**

**** _> >Makacchin misses you._

_ >>I do too._

**Viktor Nikiforov _11/26/2015 5:12am_**

**** _> >Your birthday’s coming up soon. Can I call?_

 

**Viktor Nikiforov _11/29/2015 12:03 am_**

**** _> >I guess not._

_ >> Happy birthday, my love. _

_ >>Wish you were here._

**Viktor Nikiforov _12/02/2015 2:25 am_**

**** _> >Yuuri this isn’t fair._

_ >>I’m sorry._

_ >>Please come back._

_ >>Please_

_ >>You still have all of me._

_ >>I’ll do anything _

_ >>I love you_

_ >>Please.._

**Viktor Nikiforov _12/02/2015 10:05am_**

_ >>Hey_

_ >>I’m sorry about last night I had too much to drink_

_ >>Won’t happen again_

_ >>Yakov’s already threatening to cut me with my skates so…_

_ >>I miss you_

_ >>Anyway.._

_ >>Take care_

Since then, Victor remained carrying all his love for Yuuri until the moment comes when he could offer them again, whole this time. But there were days when the longing got the best of him, and he finds himself paying for the sins of drowning in alcohol, and wakes up in the arms of the wrong man, sleeping on the wrong bed. When Chris told him that he had proposed, there had been nothing but genuine happiness he felt for his friend. It was about time, he said, clapping Chris on the back. But when the night came, and he remained restless, unable to stop the pounding in his chest at the prospect of seeing Yuuri soon. What would he say? Would Yuuri take him back? Would Yuuri even want to talk to him in the first place? With all his pent up anxiety, he headed down the nearest local bar, and everything went to hell from there. The morning after, he bid the man goodbye, recognizing him as one of the ice dancers he had worked with a couple of months before, and left leaving only an apology, taking whatever dignity he could find. Truthfully, there wasn’t much. Soon pictures of his escapade had broken out. Yakov wanted to hang him up a tree with the laces of his skates, yelling at him and pounding another hang over into his head. But it was Yurio’s words that hit him the most.

Yurio barged in his apartment the day the scandal was at its peak, and threw a cup, the nearest thing he could find, right at his head. He was about to berate the younger skater until he pointed a finger at him, and yelled with as much indignation his small body could muster, “Think of who could be watching, asshole!” With that, Yurio stormed out as fast as he came, slamming the door right behind him.

Given the direction their conversation had taken, it’s safe to say that Yuuri hasn’t exactly been living under a rock, and has been exposed to not just one, but perhaps all the disgraceful atrocities he’s been involved in since they broke up. He promised Yuuri that when he comes back, he’ll be someone worthy. Now he looks himself in the mirror, bags under his eyes as if he’s Atlas carrying the weight of the world, and he wonders how he could win the love of his life over when he’s still so weak.

He checks his phone, and sees a message from Chris, asking him if he was okay. Of course, he’d notice, with how frantic Yuuri was when running away from him. But Chris and Phichit were most probably on their way to their honeymoon, and even he had the common sense not to bother the happy couple with his dilemma, so he sent a quick _“I’ll tell you when you get back,”_ and turned off his phone right after.

Seeing how happy Chris and Phichit had been, he couldn’t help but feel a bit envious. If they hadn’t messed up, if their responsibilities hadn’t gotten in the way, would he and Yuuri be just as happy? Would they be married as well by now? _That could have been us. That should have been us._ His insides are frozen from all his longing, and it’s taking all his self-control to not knock on Yuuri’s door and beg him to take him back. But no, Yuuri deserved better than an impulsive decision. This time he’d make things right. This time he’d make sure that the golden band still sitting inside its velvet box would make its way to Yuuri’s finger. This time, for certain, he’ll do everything so Yuuri won’t once again give it back.

The spotlight was all well and good, but he’s been away long enough. It’s time to come home.

The next day, Victor dresses himself up and heads to the ice rink, mentally thanking Yakov for booking him a couple of hours so he could get his mind straight. Truth be told, he never really came up with a solid plan on how to woo Yuuri again. He doesn’t even know how he managed it the first time. Victor covers his mouth with the back of his hand, unable to stop himself from smiling at the memory.

It was early December. Victor had been sitting inside a 90’s-themed café, scribbling down notes in preparation for his short program when his phone rang, with Chris on the other end of the call.

“Hello—“

“Victor, thank God! I need you to drop everything you’re doing, and come to the rink this instant! No questions asked!” Chris demanded before Victor could even get a sentence out

“What? Why—“

“What about ‘No questions asked’ does your pretty little head not get, Mon Chéri?”

“Fine, but you owe me.” Victor sighs as he gathered his things while Chris spouted gratefulness on the other line. It’s not like he wasn’t already used to Chris’ antics, no matter how strange they may be. Though if he were guessing, it’s all probably just another ruse to get into someone’s pants. It’s not like he himself had any plans to settle down anytime soon, he just wishes Chris would stop dragging him along with his shenanigans lest they both finally get arrested.

“Victor, there you are!” Chris’ voice booms inside the rink as he skates toward Victor. He notices an unfamiliar man following the Swiss skater, or perhaps hiding behind was the better choice of words. The stranger kept his head down as he quietly trailed after Chris.

“Mind telling me what’s going on?” Victor quirked an eyebrow while Chris’ mouth upturned into a smirk, and maybe it’s the sun reflecting the wrong way, but Victor swears that glint in his friend’s eye is nothing but evil. He _knows_ that look. He’s suffered a three-day hangover because of that look. Hell, he once woke up under a truck because of it.

“Well, Phichit and I were out to lunch the other day when we got to talking. And wouldn’t you know it, his good friend Yuuri Katsuki here happens to be a big fan of your skating. I promised Phichit I’d teach him to skate today so we thought it’d be a great idea to get you both introduced!” Chris’ grin is stretching so wide in his face Victor almost wants to measure it with a ruler. A part of him wants to sigh heavily, but that would be rude. It’s not like it’s his fault, though. He didn’t wake up today expecting to babysit just so Chris could earn good character points to charm Phichit. Victor swears his hair is thinning because Chris keeps getting him involved in these things.

“Now then, I’ll be leaving Yuuri in your very capable hands. Enjoy!” Chris gives him a sly wink, and pushes Yuuri in his direction. Victor’s hand shoots up midway, expecting the man to slip and fall, but to his surprise, Yuuri manages to maintain his balance, that is, until his eyes met Victor’s and he squealed like he’s a mouse being cornered by a cat. Before Victor could ask if he’s okay, Yuuri bows, his head almost hitting Victor in the stomach.

“I-I’m sorry! I tried to stop Chris, really!” Yuuri apologizes profusely, making Victor feel bad. Of course, it’s not like he was the only one constantly getting dragged in Chris’ affairs. At least Victor was already used to it. Yuuri, on the other hand, looks like someone who’d shrivel up and die if someone so much as touched him.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Victor waves him off, and with slight hesitation, cautiously places a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. The man visibly flinches, but manages to look up at him at least. Victor gives him a sympathetic smile. He didn’t know how he’d react at first, especially when Chris told him Yuuri was a fan. It’s one of his rare days off, and he’s rather spend it not being ogled by a stranger. But now that he takes a good look at him, maybe Chris had been wrong. Yuuri looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. If he weren’t wearing skates, Victor’s betting he might have even run. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself properly. Hi, I’m Victor Nikiforov.” He sticks out a hand, and Yuuri eyes it, looking unsure whether it’s safe to shake it or now, as if it were a bomb waiting to detonate at his touch.

Albeit slowly, Yuuri reaches to take his hand, “My name is Yuuri Katsuki. It’s very nice to meet you.” Yuuri’s voice was quiet. He bites his lip like he’s in deep thought what to do next. Victor finds it adorable. “Again, I’m really sorry for all this. The three of us were just talking about skating, but one thing led to another, and of course, I should have known that you and Chris were friends, but I didn’t think he’d actually call you up like that. You must be busy, if you want you can go, I can handle the two of them—“

“Ahh, you wound me, Yuuri. Do you not want me here?” Victor clutches his chest, acting like he’s in pain. If he didn’t stop Yuuri from rambling, he’s afraid that he might actually pass out from the way his nerves are going. Yuuri’s face flushes red, and he shakes his head vehemently.

“That’s not it! I just..” Yuuri trails of, twisting his hands together.

“Tell you what, let me go lace up my skates, and I’ll teach you how to do a quad flip.” Victor winks at him before sauntering off to one of the nearby benches. He stifled a laugh, hearing Yuuri sputtering right where he left him. Taking off his skate guards, he maneuvers himself in front of Yuuri, and poses with a hand fisted on his waist.

“I can’t do a quad flip!” Yuuri gawks at him with wide eyes, the tips of his ears red, maybe from the cold, or the embarrassment, or both. Victor laughs, and Yuuri fidgets even more.

“Kidding, kidding. I can’t have you snatching up the gold from under my nose, can I?” Victor smiles at him, offering him an arm. Yuuri looks at him with wide eyes like he’s about to combust any minute. He waits patiently until Yuuri sighs and finally finds the courage to loop a timid hand on his bicep. “You don’t seem like a beginner. Have you been skating long?”

“I’ve been skating since I was a kid. My friend’s family manages the local rink at Hasetsu—that’s where I’m from.” Yuuri explains as they scraped along the ice.

“And you’ve never tried to skate competitively?”

“Just a few local competitions here and there, but I never really had what it takes to be taken as serious competition in the sport. My anxiety gets very bad when I have to perform in front of people, and I’m pretty busy with school so I never had time to make a career out of it.”

“So, what do you actually do now?” Victor asks, dragging Yuuri to skate lazy figures on the ice.

“I study journalism. I want to work under Celestino Cialdini someday. I never pursued skating competitively but I want to still have a job that’s related to it since I love the sport.” Victor stares at Yuuri, and a smile forms on his lips as he watched Yuuri glow when talking about something that he’s passionate about. His eyes crinkle on the side, and even though his voice is fairly soft, Victor can hear the happiness behind them, and he wonders how the Universe could not keel at this precious boy. With a smile like that, Victor doesn’t know why he ever thought genuine gold only came in the form of his medals.

“For what it’s worth, you can always interview me.” Victor smirks, and Yuuri pulls his hand away to playfully shove him on the arm. Victor rubs at it, pouting. “I thought you were a fan?”

“I-I am.” Yuuri murmurs, the blush on his cheeks returning, and he looks so good like this, Victor thinks. “I’ve been a fan since you were still in Juniors.”

“Really?” Victor asks excitedly, pulling out his phone, and wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, tilting his head so their cheeks are presses together.

“H-hey, Victor, stop! What are you doing?” Yuuri panics, trying to inch his face away, but Victor Nikiforov was nothing if not persistent. Keeping Yuuri in place, he opens the camera on his phone, and beams, “Say, Makacchin!” Victor grins widely at the lens, two of his finger up in a ‘V,’ and Yuuri can’t help but let out a laugh. When Chris told him that Victor Nikiforov was coming, he expected someone aloof—the untouchable god of the ice. But seeing Victor now, giggling at a photo that ended up with their faces smooshed together, with Yuuri jokingly trying to push him off, and the Russian smiling as wide as he can, he wonders how the media could ever be so cruel to paint this man to be as cold as the ice he skated upon. In his mind, Yuuri vows that if he ever succeeds in his field of study, he would let the world see how wonderful, how warm, how beautiful Victor is without the façade that came with the limelight. Because Victor deserves better. Because Yuuri, no matter how arrogant a wish it may be, wants to be the one who gives it to him.

“Why would you post that?” Yuuri buries his face in his hands, whining.

“And why not? We’re adorable, look!” Victor zooms in on their faces, and Yuuri wants to strangle him with his own long, silver hair. As if Victor could actually take a bad photo for the life of him. Yuuri, on the other hand, looks like a constipated spoon.

“Delete it!”

“No!” Victor cradles his phone in his chest.

“But I look stupid.” Yuuri’s lip jut out in a pout. And Victor? Victor is only a man. In spite of the success, the fame, the medals that adorned the walls of his home—In spite all that, Victor is still only just a man. And a very weak one at that. So Victor smiles at him softly, and says, “I’ll delete it, but on one condition.”

“What’s that?” Yuuri asks, eyeing him curiously. He couldn’t think of anything he could offer that Victor didn’t already have.

Victor takes his hand.

“Go out with me.”

Looking back, Yuuri wouldn’t remember it very well. But he’s guessing he might have screamed.

 

 

 


End file.
